On one my first visits to Borough Market with an ex-girlfriend I glimpsed the Kappacasein cheese stall. Mighty half moons of reclette were propped up, next to orange heaters beating down on them with the force of 1000 splendid suns.

On that particular visit my date and I opted for oysters. Fortunately the lovemaking had finished by the time the Norovirus kicked in. I spent the next 24 hours sipping on cranberry juice desperately clutching an IKEA "Fniss" bin.

What I once heralded as a foodie Mecca has taken something of a turn. The stalls that line the walls of Borough Market now seem oddly cynical, like the jolly fish and chips stalls that pile up outside Wembley, or Twickenham on match day. The Pad Thai in papyrus font is probably owned by a Panamanian shell company to launder Haitian blood money. The soul food stand could equally be owned by Mike Ashley.

Kappacasein has since graduated to a shopfront just outside the market. It's less of a frantic operation these days, with one sandwich artist slicing sourdough with a template, discarding any slices deemed too big or small, whilst the queue grows longer and increasingly anxious.

When it does come, the cheese sandwich is perfectly crisp. It's filled with Cheddar, Comte, Raclette, leek and onions. It raises grilled cheese to the sublime. Not one to be missed.